


on this night (and in this light)

by piecesofgold



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold
Summary: “Did it not scare you?” Anya has asked when Polly was done, pressing a mug of peach tea into her hand.Polly frowned. “Did what scare me?”“Going from -” Anya waved a hand, trying to think of how to word it. “I don’t know, ruining the friendship?”Polly laughed. “That was the wholepoint, Anyok.”
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	on this night (and in this light)

**Author's Note:**

> ivyrobinson suggested a "ruin the friendship" au. five hours and 1.3k words later, here we are.

Anya is quite happy to blame Polly for this entire mess. If the other girl hadn’t started telling the story of how she and Dunya finally got together, relaying it like some sort of fairytale, Anya would _not_ be in this situation.

“Did it not scare you?” Anya has asked when Polly was done, pressing a mug of peach tea into her hand.

Polly frowned. “Did what scare me?”

“Going from -” Anya waved a hand, trying to think of how to word it. “I don’t know, ruining the friendship?”

Polly laughed. “That was the whole _point_ , Anyok.”

It whirred around her head all day, making it impossible to finish any of her assignments or hold a conversation with any of her sisters on FaceTime.

 _Ruin the friendship_. It’s such an easy thing to say - and it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before.

Maybe the first time she did was at fifteen, at the annual Romanov Christmas gala she hadn’t even wanted to attend, surrounded by extended family she didn’t like and her father’s business people she didn’t know. Unbearable, really, save for the plus one who’d offered to accompany her.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” Anya reminded him again, looking wistfully at the flutes of champagne she wasn’t allowed to drink under the watchful eyes of her sisters and parents.

Dmitry grinned, nudging her foot under the table. “What, and miss out seeing how the other half live?” He hadn’t looked comfortable all night, in his only black suit and bowtie that Tatiana had to fix for him. She knows his plans for coming home from college for the holidays didn’t involve the pomp and pageantry of this event.

Anya pulled a face, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on,” she said, standing up, “Dance with me.”

“Anyok,” Dmitry laughed, uncertain. He let her drag him up though, because he’s never denied her anything.

Anya bit back a smile, sliding her fingers through his as his other hand found her waist. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

It's laughable how bad they were. Dmitry has two left feet and Anya manages to stand on both of them. They caused such a scene that Olga grabbed Dmitry’s elbow and hissed at them both to _behave_.

“Ah, Olya,” Anya giggled, throwing her arms around her big sister. “Lighten up for once.”

Olga rolled her eyes, prying Anya off her. “Perhaps I will when I don’t have you children to supervise.” She shooed them away, still shaking her head.

Anya’s was still giggling even after they had slinked through the glass doors, stumbling to slip off her heels. “I think that banishes us for the next few decades.”

Dmitry's face was flushed, the bowtie undone around his neck. “Think your aunt might be putting a hit out on me,” he said between chortles.

Anya snorted, tipping her head back against the wall. “Well, wouldn’t be the first time,” she pointed out. When Dmitry didn’t respond, she looked at him to see his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Hey, what?”

He said nothing, just tilted his head upwards. Following his gaze, she sees the cluster of mistletoe hanging from the dimmed chandelier.

Oh. Maria must have won her fight with Tatiana to hang them from every light.

Anya’s mouth had gone oddly dry. “You know,” she decided to say, unable to look at Dmitry. “In Norse mythology, Frigga forgot to make her son immune to mistletoe, so Loki used it to -”

“Anyok.” Dmitry was much closer than he’d been a moment ago, his voice much softer.

“Dima,” she whispered cautiously, a second before he leaned down and kissed her.

Part of her wishes it had been her first kiss, rather than the clumsy one she had shared with a boy under the bleachers on her birthday. Dmitry had tasted of watermelon mojitos and home, his hands warm on her jaw and waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. Anya can still feel him sometimes, like a phantom tingling on her lips.

They’d gone to Taco Bell afterwards, and sat in his tiny car with greasy fingers she’d tried so hard to soothe her pounding heart. All she’d wanted to do was pull him back to her, but she hadn’t.

A kiss under mistletoe doesn’t have to mean anything, and nothing in the two years since has indicated that it had. She and Dmitry are friends, _best_ friends - ruining that after one incident seemed too much of a risk.

And no, they _haven’t_ been been drifting apart the past year or so, never mind that Stanford and Berkley are barely an hour apart but they haven’t seen one another, or that Anya had to find out through Maria that Dmitry was dating Katya Zborovskaya last fall. They’d broken up by the time she spoke to him next, anyway.

But Polly had to go and tell her that stupid story of her and Dunya, and all Anya has been able to think about is that kiss.

It takes more than a little liquid courage and a knowing look from Polly for Anya to stumble back to her dorm and send a barely legible text, before immediately passing out in bed.

Not even an hour later, she’s startled awake by incessant banging on her door, which does very little to help the dull pounding in her head.

“What the fuck,” Anya groans, draining the last of her waterbottle on her way to the door. “Alright, Jesus, what’s the big emer-”

The complaint dies in her mouth, finding Dmitry on the other side of the door.

He looks like he’s not long rolled out of bed himself, his jacket thrown over a sleep shirt and sweatpants. Anya barely has time to process any of that before he’s speaking.

“Did you mean it?” He asks immediately, foregoing a greeting altogether.

Anya blinks. Blinks again. “Did I - what? Dima, why are you…” she trails off when he whips out his phone, showing the text unmistakably sent by a mildly tipsy her.

_canwe ruin kthe friendship ???_

Anya sort of hates tipsy her and Dunya’s cocktails right now.

There’s a string of texts from Dmitry after that, and he’s still staring at her, waiting for an answer she doesn’t know how to give. Anya’s head is spinning, and it has nothing to do with a hangover.

She looks at him, his expression unreadable.

“Anyok,” he says softly. “Did you mean…”

It’s not Christmas, there’s no mistletoe, and they’ve wasted so much time already.

Anya tries to stop her hands shaking. “Yes.”

Dmitry has barely breathed out “thank _fuck_ ,” before his hands are on her waist and his mouth is on hers. He doesn’t taste of watermelon this time; he tastes of toothpaste and mouthwash.

They somehow manage not to trip over one another in the haste to get into her dorm. When he hoists her up to wrap around him, Anya punches his shoulder.

To his credit, he doesn’t drop her, but still looks very offended. “What the hell -”

“Why didn’t you _say anything_?” Anya demands, furiously kissing him before he can answer.

Dmitry snorts, pressing her up against the door. “Could ask you the same thing,” he points out between breaths.

“I thought -” she starts, whimpering when his mouth starts a trail down her throat. “I thought you didn’t want -”

He laughs against her skin, making her hands tighten in his shirt. “God, Anya, I’ve wanted this since that stupid Christmas party.” He lets her push off his jacket, his hand sliding between her thighs. “Before then, even.”

Anya wants to cry suddenly - wants to tell him she loves him, too. “We’ve lost so much time,” she whines, rocking into his hand, his fingers rubbing just the right way.

Dmitry kisses the noises she makes. “Doesn’t matter,” he promises. “We’re here now.”

Anya can’t think straight, with what his hands and mouth and words are doing. “Just as an aside,” she laughs breathlessly. “My bed is a lot more comfortable than the door.”

Dmitry nips her throat, and she can feel his grin. “Gotcha.”

* * *

The next morning, Anya buys Polly a chocolate caramel brownie after classes. Dunya doesn't even try to hide her smile.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated as alwayyyyys.


End file.
